The Magic Wall
by idina
Summary: It was ever-changing, unpredictable, spontaneous and lively, its spirit pulsing through its brick exterior. It was familiar, it was family, it was just one more reason to call this place Home. Sam/Freddie.


She was 6 when she first saw the Magic Wall.

The first thing she noticed: it was glittering. In a child's eyes, everything is strange, exciting, magical. 'Miracle' is the term that graces every unfamiliar thing in their sight, as exaggerated as the phrase may be. This wall was exceptionally so. Stretching tall above her small, raised head, it reached its paint-splashed canvas across cities, oceans, even universes… or so it seemed. In her memory, it was green grass, cornflower blue, mystic mauve, deep silver, shimmering black, or heart-stained red, all at the same time. It was magic. In it's greatest element, it was a fascinating and ever-changing mystery. Her child hands reached to feel it, only to be stopped by the ever-agitated mother of hers, who was never particularly fond of stopping at a place long enough for people to notice they were there.

"Come on, Sam. This is not the place to be right now." It was their first day in a strange new place—their eighth move in 5 years. Dragging her tiny, well-worn suitcase onto a borrowed, beaten-up-looking pickup truck earlier on had not done much for her optimism about a more permanent home… but glancing back at the Magic Wall at that moment, she was inspired by both a want and a _need _to stay in this new city.

A loud splash was heard. A faceless stranger was throwing paint onto the already-stained brick barricade—and with such violence and nonchalance too—and left her horrorstruck. "No!" A scream rang in her head. It was incomprehensible to her, at that time, why anyone would ruin a beauty such as that wall in front of her. Frozen to the spot, she watched the colour spread like a disease, its grappling hands infecting the other colours next to it, infusing and changing. It was too late to wipe it off and just pretend that its splendor was unmarked.

A peculiar thing happened in that instant. Though before the thought was unthinkable to the child, the shining wall emerged, transformed, into even more dazzling beauty. In years to come, she would realize that it wasn't so much because of the colours that the wall generated such appeal to her. It was the 'ever-changing-ness' of its form, its unpredictability and spontaneous fusion of different colours, and the forcefulness that was inflicted on it for it to emerge in beauty, which fueled her affection towards it.

By a strange generosity of luck—or Fate, as we may call it—Sam Puckett, along with her mother and sister (for a while), resided in that very city for the rest of her life. Outside temptations threatened this very fact, but every time, the Wall (and later, a certain gentleman she came to relate to this wall) reeled her back to home.

* * *

She was 16 when she next saw the Magic Wall.

In the decade that passed, she had both lost herself and found herself. In ways, she was better off than the scrawny little scrap of a rug-rat she was when she first found herself facing a new life in Seattle. Graced with two best friends (who, in her opinion, were all the friends she needed), a crazy cat, and a place she could finally call home, she didn't feel even a little inclined to sell off her life for 50 bucks and a bucket of chicken in gravy. Her glass was slowly emptying, though. Her mother, getting on in years, was slipping away from her with every passing day, both physically and mentally. She was able to put off thinking about this encumbering weight that hung on her shoulders for a while longer, instead occupying her time with smoothies and Internet fame and friendships and relationships, and so it came to be that the Wall was unvisited (but by no means forgotten) until the next decade of her life.

That day, she did not know what had brought her back to the Wall. It had been a particularly bad afternoon, involving a verbal war between her and Freddie, one of the aforementioned best friends of hers. Among the two, fights were aplenty, but for the oddest reasons, he'd grown into his bark and managed to sting her heart that day like a heated iron flung carelessly in her path. "Get off my back!" he'd shouted. "Aww, just admit you love me, Benson," she'd mocked in response. "I'd never love a monstrosity like you." There was no mistaking the snarl behind his voice at his proclamation.

And so she found herself staring at the wall, losing herself in the mesmerizing vividness of it. It had metamorphosed into something entirely unrecognizable, but beautiful all the same, and not as big as she had found it before. Hoping that it would cure her broken heart was absurd (if broken was the adjective to be used to describe her heart at the moment, for it was unknown even to her whether it wholly belonged to _him_), but as far as painkillers went, the wall was more effective than any pharmacy prescription.

In the first of a series of memories that lead her to associate the following man with the wall she was staring at, her 'prince charming' came to find her huddled in a lonely street staring at a peculiar wall (yes, the very wall that we were previously discussing) after she'd run off wordlessly and apparently heartbroken. He arrived with an appearance more satisfying of an average Joe than a knight in shining armor (to the public eye, at least), but she was glad to see him just the same.

"Hey," he said and sat down next to her. She tensed and folded her arms over her chest, leaning away from the sudden burst of heat coming from the boy next to her on the bench. He inched closer. It was a freezing evening, for Heaven's sakes. Silence fell over them like a blanket, warm and inviting, drawing them cozily closer. "Remember that New Year's day, when Carly and Spencer were with their grandparents, and you came to my house to spend the day?"

She shrugged. She recalled the day's (or night's, if you're fussy) events very vividly, in fact, almost as if someone had recorded it in high-definition and was playing it back in her head. This was an irony, if you think of it, since he happened to have quite a flair for cameras. "Remember how you told me how you wished you could turn back the clock, because you felt like time was slipping away too fast? And then you told me that everyone thought you were a good-for-nothing, and inside you couldn't feel anything but?" Flickering images played in her head like a movie reel. "Remember how you told me to make a wish?"

She remembered, she remembered, and she remembered. He turned to her. "I wished that your wish would come true." It was a whisper, so soft that afterwards she wondered whether she really heard it at all. Dare she hold on to the idea—that wisp of smoke gently rising into the air in a twisting, enchanting, alluring pattern—that maybe he might care for her like she cared for him? He was waiting for a response, but he already knew the answer. _Yes._

"It worked. It came true." He stood up and inspected the wall. She got up and inspected the wall with him. The rest of the night passed quickly, filled with back-stories, more observations and most of all, friendship. The two side by side, a single crack in her heart was mended with every step.

_I wish for love. _Check.

* * *

She was 21, and she couldn't forget the Magic Wall.

She'd already put off going to college. She'd spent so much time going around in circles, trying to find herself, while Carly and Freddie had gone off in hot pursuit of their dreams—the former to New York, and the latter declining a scholarship to a fancy institute in Massachusetts and staying behind near Seattle (despite numerous heated debates between mother and son, teachers and student, and Sam and him), because Seattle meant Sam, and Sam, to him, was essential. A foolish decision, yes, but as they say, love makes you blind… no?

A few years ago, she dreamt of the day she was able to move on and start afresh somewhere else, but now that she finally had a ticket out of the wayward neighbourhood she called home and was offered a once-in-a-lifetime chance to do something she really loved, she couldn't bear to leave. It all went down to two things—the boy, and the wall.

_Move on, Puckett._ Some things were easier said than done, and while taping up the last box of her possessions, she felt as though a knife was slowly slicing her heart in half. Spilt blood leaves a stain. She tried to tell herself that it would be okay, that she would get used to her new life, that nothing would ever change what was between her and _him_. He tried to tell her the same thing. Maybe she said it so many times that she actually started to believe that everything would really be okay, that she would get used to her new life, that nothing would _ever _change Puckett and Benson. Then the wall would come up in her memory, and she'd get the jitters about taking up the scholarship. She just couldn't forget it.

"We'll take a picture of it, then you can at least bring a little bit of it with you," Freddie said. But she knew deep down that no camera would ever be able to capture the essence, the sheer beauty of the wall. It wasn't its colours she loved—it was its spirit. You can't trap that in a photograph and bring it around with you everywhere you go.

Week followed week as time slipped through her fingers, plunging, screaming, towards the never-ending pit of what-could-have-been. At times, she was a student looking forward to accomplishing big dreams and big goals. At times, she was a prisoner getting ready to be lead to exile. Whether she was ready or not, the day came when the plane to Philly had to leave and she had to be on it. On that day, her mother cried once, he kissed her 4 times, and she almost changed her mind 5 times. Finally, at the very last moment, she was desperate and afraid and unwilling, and she ran out of the airport; she ran, ran fast, until the airport in the distance was a great blur. She ran, until finally, she found herself in front of the wall.

It was smaller than she'd remembered. What had the years done to it? It was crumbling at the edges, but standing strong and tall and wholly just the same. _Foundation_, she whispered, caressing its textured bricks. A fascination, an obsession, you may call it. Sam called it 'home'.

When Benson got there, it was a moment of _well-it's-about-time_. They wrapped their arms around each other and felt the rain fall down. In his hurry to catch her, he'd forgotten an umbrella. Just as well, though, because standing in the rain had never felt so good to her before. Some people may say the heavens were crying. Indeed, raindrops rolled down the surface of the wall, like tears on a child's face. She considered them tears of joy, however; they were tears of happy reunion; they brought about a new start, a fresh slate. As he held her, there, beside the wall, they watched the world flit in front of their eyes, but they weren't afraid, no… They were two joined spirits, and later would still be two joined spirits.

A useful definition: 'Later'—A never-ending space in time, preceded by now.

She was 21, and she would _never _forget the wall.

* * *

She was 83 when she last saw the Magic Wall.

They say time passes by quickly when you're having fun. She wouldn't call the last few years of her life fun, but time passed by quickly anyway.

An outline of her adult life: Got a job in a fancy French restaurant, hated the job, set up her own guacamole and taco stand, upgrading later to include steak and meat delicacies, perfected and won an award for her fruit-punch salmon entrée, got married to a tech nerd, had one boy, gave up on children, set up another restaurant in Hawaii, and visited the Magic Wall. Funny how every time, she always ended up coming back to wall, huh?

The wall had had its share of rough times too. If it weren't for the residents of Seattle (as it turned out, she wasn't the only one who knew about the Wall), it would've been demolished long ago, and thanks to a petition by the Arts Council, people were still allowed to do whatever they wanted to the wall. "It's our town's spirit, captured in that one wall," they'd said, "and as people change, the wall should change too."

It seemed, though, that the constant abuse released on it was taking a toll on the structure itself. It no longer stood as tall as it used to, it no longer stood proud and full of youthful spirit. One thing Sam knew she could always rely on, however, was its foundation, which stood its ground against the wear and tear of the years.

Now, decades later, the wall was reaching its golden years. Now, the Bensons themselves were in their golden years. Now, looking back on everything that had happened, she knew why she loved that wall so much. It had a story to tell, a part to play in her story. It _was_ her story—_their _story, really.

_The first thing she noticed: it was glittering. _The last thing she noticed: its would glitter forever—it would live on forever, as long as there was belief and hope and its spirit was kept alive. As she said goodbye to the world, with her hands around him and his hands around her, in front of that wall, she found it ironic that she wasn't born in that very spot. But, she knew, her life really only started when she found herself, aged 6, standing in front of the mysterious, undecipherable Magic Wall.

_It was the 'ever-changing-ness' of its form, its unpredictability and spontaneous fusion of different colours, and the forcefulness that was inflicted on it for it to emerge in beauty…_

_

* * *

_

_He was 19 when he first saw the Magic Wall._

_His grandmother had loved it so much. He could see why… it was run-down and rubble, but he could feel its life pulsing through the bricks, he could feel its spirit emanating from the colours, and the sheer idea of what it had gone through to attain its beauteousness._

"_Take care of its spirit," she'd said to him when he saw her last. When he found out she was referring to a wall in the outside suburbs of Seattle, he'd passed her queer comment off as a result of old age. Now, though, he understood. _

_Staring at the wall, he thought of ways to preserve it, to promote it, so that it would capture the hearts of all the citizens, and they would find it in themselves to keep it alive._

_Rest in peace, Mama. _

XOXOXOXOXO

* * *

**Thanks for reading all that... I just have a lot going on and I needed to get it out. Just in case it wasn't clear, this was my interpretation of the Sam/Freddie relationship (yes, in the form of the Wall, which is supposed to represent them). I think their relationship is unique and fascinating in that way... or maybe it's just my love for metaphors coming out again. Oops. **

P.S. Terribly sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes, and some words may be spelled (or is it 'spelt'?) in British form instead of American, because I have been brought up to spell like a... Britishman?... and old habits die hard.

P.P.S. Happy New Year, peeps!

**Cassidy-Ellen


End file.
